


Bring Me That Horizon

by grantaired



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Self Harm, les amis friendship is the best thing ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaired/pseuds/grantaired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now they all know why Peter Pan never wanted to grow up."</p>
<p>Les amis go to university and discover that being a teenager isn't all it's cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me That Horizon

Even Enjolras didn’t dare to disturb the weekend ritual Les Amis had in place. While Enjolras had his meetings every Tuesday night without fail, and the not-so-occasional ‘emergency’ meeting thrown in, scattered throughout the week, Fridays and Saturdays belonged entirely to Grantaire.

He might not be the wisest person, but he knew how to keep things interesting. The days were spent in his apartment, or whoever else volunteered to let the rest of the Amis invade their home. The days were spent drinking cheap liquor and laughing at bad movies. Sometimes in the summer they all ventured to the park and laid out blankets and talked until someone pulled a football out and everyone made horribly unmatched teams, and laughed and played until the sun went down. At night, everyone would get dressed and follow Grantaire and do whatever he planned for the night, no matter how stupid it ended up being, the Amis found their own little ways to make it fun.

_________________________

It was a typical Friday night for Eponine, sitting beside Bahorel on Grantaire’s old ragged couch watching an old X-Men movie. Or at least Bahorel was watching. Eponine was too transfixed with the way Marius had Cosette tucked under his arm. He was playing with her long blonde hair, and they both whispered into each other’s ears. A sigh escaped Eponine’s lips.

“They not worth your sighs, sweetheart,” Grantaire whispered from behind the couch, causing her to jump. His lips skimmed over her ear.

“I can kick Marius out if you want? I mean, it’s not as if anyone but Cosette actually wants him here.”

This actually made Eponine giggle a bit, and he reached out from behind her in a hug, squeezing her bony shoulders. He plucked his cigarette out of his lips, and placed it into hers. She inhaled and tiled her neck back, feeling slightly better already.

“Thanks, R. I think I just need a minute to myself is all,” she said, dragging the poison into her lungs.

“You want to go to the roof?” Grantaire fished through his pocket.

“Yeah, please.”

“Take this key and be careful,” he handed her the key even though he knew damn well that she could just pick the lock in a matter of seconds to let herself back in. She patted his cheek and murmured a quiet thank you. She snuck out of the apartment almost silently.

___________________

Enjolras had fallen asleep in Grantaire’s most comfortable armchair with a pile of half-finished Gender Rights Rally flyers fallen beside him. His hair was messy, golden curls sticking up in every direction, and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“Don’t you just want to cuddle him?” Musichetta cooed to Grantaire who threw an old ratty blanket over him.

“Not really, ‘Chetta,” Grantaire mumbled. Musichetta raised an eyebrow. “Come off it, you it’s not like that. It hasn’t been for a year, at least!” Grantaire exclaimed. She let out one of her famously loud laughs.

“Oh, Grantaire, you know I’m not serious. But of course I’ll never let the fact that you actually fornicated with Golden Boy over here go, honestly, it’s just too great to forget!” Musichetta cackled.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Grantaire said, although he did smile as he walked away from his ex-boyfriend and ‘Chetta in his constant search for alcohol.

Musichetta looked down at Enjolras and was tempted to shake him awake as revenge for all of the times he woke her up when she fell asleep in his midnight meetings, but she knew that he would quite possibly kill her, so she thought better of it, and simply snapped a quick picture of him instead.

Less than five minutes later Enjolras’s blue eyes snapped open after hearing Joly’s latest mental breakdown, managing to hear parts of his screams, saying that he’d caught a contagious virus, and they needed to make a sanitization bubble to prevent its spreading. Enjolras crept out of the chair and made his way to the door, feeling too tired to deal with this at the moment. He decided to get some quiet time on the rooftop. He hauled the door open, only to see a silhouette walking on the edge of the roof. Their feet occasionally flew over the ledge of the rooftop. Enjolras felt very nervous just watching them, and felt afraid to approach, for fear of surprising them, and causing them to fall. He let the door creak as it shut, and watched the figure spin around. When their eyes made contact, she simply let her legs fall out from under her, which made Enjolras’s mouth slide open in horrible fear, before she rather gracefully fell into a sitting position on the ledge. Enjolras decide to approach her. He saw her lips twist ruefully before she slid her body around.

_________________

Her leg dangled over the top of the building and a cigarette dangled out of the corner of her lips. Her dark eyes turned to face him. He used to have a hard time seeing them, with all the black makeup smeared around them, but now he knows that he must have been insane. How could he miss the golden sparks that danced in them, lighting them up with a quiet fiery passion.

“You need to be more careful, Eponine,” he sighed.

“Enjolras, you just don’t get it. I need this. I need my thrills,” she said, with that wicked smirk twisting on her lips. He wanted to steal it from her.

“You don’t get it, Eponine. It’s not some adrenaline rush. This is you putting yourself in bad places, it’s practically suicide! Hanging out with Montparnasse is a bad idea, and you know it,” he huffed. She couldn’t help but drink in the conviction in his voice, the sound of a leader telling her to follow. She couldn’t help but throw fire right back to him.

“I know suicidal, Enjolras. I know that when I was sixteen and naive, I stood on a bridge over the Seine, and almost jumped in. I know what it’s like to feel desperate enough to hold a lighter to your wrist and hope that you’ll just burn to the ground. I know the difference.” She spits these words at him, looking for a reaction, a begging apology.

No. Enjolras’s absolute face hardens even more, and a deep frown finds its way onto the lips of the marble statue.

“No, Eponine. You just know how to make it look like an accident,” and he stands up, taking the cigarette from her lips, fingers brushing over her softly, and he throws it off the edge of the building. “Now, get inside. Grantaire’s making tea, and we’re not done discussing this.”

She wants to tackle him, and scream at him. _You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t get to say anything, you grew up rich and you have the world in your pocket. No, I lost it all, I was the Library of Alexandria, and I was set to flames, and the smoke unfurls around me, it poisons the lungs of anyone too close. I was full, i was brilliant, i was beautiful, but one spark can make it all collapse. I ruin things, and you build them. And I’ll destroy you too._

But instead she follows him inside, and hopes that Grantaire has chamomile, instead of the rotten ginger tea he had last week.

________________

The party Grantaire was raving about only a couple hours ago was completely forgotten. Eponine left with Enjolras, simply because she didn’t think she could handle being around the others very much.

The pair met in the stairwell after what she said on the rooftop, and he asked if she felt comfortable with Les Amis knowing. She thought about it for a minute, but agreed. These people were her family, and if anyone should know, it should be them. Besides, she was getting sick of covering up her scars.

A few of them cried when Enjolras explained it for her, as she kept her head focused on the stained rug underneath her feet. Cosette let out gasping sobs, and little Jehan had tears streaming down his face as he gasped out unnecessary apologies. Marius simply looked horrified and confused, and the way he stared at her made her want to vomit. Combeferre asked her questions about it calmly, and Joly suggested medications to her, which she shook her head furiously at. Musichetta did nothing but hold her hand, and Bossuet had his own on Chetta’s shoulder, while his eyes linked with Eponine. Feuilly went lit another cigarette and offered it to her, which made Enjolras glare furiously at him. Courfeyrac looked distressed, but also ready to kill somebody. He also mentioned that Gavroche was out with some girl from school, and that he’d keep him at his apartment for the night, and Eponine felt a surge of gratitude towards the boy who treated Gavroche as well as she did.

Specifically, Montparnasse was the problem and everyone knew it. Bahorel agreed that they should all go after Montparnasse tonight which Eponine simply laughed at.

There was no ‘catching’ Montparnasse. He was smoke, he was water, and he was fire. He was an element that couldn’t be contained; he would slip silkily through your fingertips, but not before burning them. He would kiss them and apologize, make you blush and moan, but then he would stab you with his little knife, bruise you and pull the tears from your eyes and drink them like whiskey. No, there was no catching Montparnasse. Montparnasse simply caught you.

Before she left the apartment, she dared to meet eyes with Grantaire. He wasn’t quite as bold. He got up, and walked into his room, slamming the door. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she longed to go in there and grab him, and take all the words back, erase her scars and beg for forgiveness. 

She walked back to her apartment in complete silence except for the occasional sniffle with Enjolras. His face was steel, and marble. He was courteous, he opened the door to her apartment, and he led her inside, and pulled out pajamas for her, and left the room for her to get dressed. He tucked her into bed, like a child, and that’s when she saw this face crack, ever so slightly. She grabbed at the opportunity, no matter how tired she may be.

“Enjolras?” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to stay. Go home and get some sleep.” Her eyelids fought against her mind, and slid closed. Enjolras sighed, and left her bedside, walking around her apartment, throwing out cigarette packs and lighters, even spare razor blades. He opened the liquor cabinet and poured it down the sink. He ran a hand through his messy hair. Knowing that he’d probably face certain death in the morning for this, he figured that he’d might as well risk it all, he thought as he reentered Eponine’s room, and fell asleep at a rather uncomfortable angle, sitting at the foot of the bed, leaning up against the wall.

Before he joined Eponine in a world of sleepiness and illusory images, he heard a vague mumble come out of her mouth saying what might have been a glimpse of a name, but he couldn’t hold onto the sound or the memory, so he let it lull him to sleep, his long forgotten lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> if you clicked on this despite reading my horrid summary, then THANK YOU  
> also, if you're looking at the oc tags up top and cringing, don't worry, my ocs are not going to be cringeworthy, and if they are, let me know so they can be de-cringified  
> so yeah  
> like  
> thanks for reading and all that jazz


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